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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25148659">Snowdrop</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/virberos/pseuds/virberos'>virberos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And he's having a not good day, Angst and Feels, Consensual Sex, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Mentioned Nero's Mother, Smut, Unenthusiastic Sex, Vergil just misses his mom and bro ok?, implied prostitution</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:09:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25148659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/virberos/pseuds/virberos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world runs on give and take. Vergil knows this too well, as a penniless young man in Fortuna. But there are some things that can be exchanged for what he seeks, even if he’s less than enthusiastic about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Snowdrop</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMuzzMuzz/gifts">LadyMuzzMuzz</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Winters in Fortuna weren’t that cold, more like the occasional chill that nipped the very air. Perhaps that was the blessing of a more temperate climate, with mild winters, so unlike the winters of Red Grave, he could still remember grey-hued skies and falling snow, of memories turned bitter with the smell of ash and the taste of blood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil glanced up to the window of the tiny room, one of the many public housing apartments in the city. It was bland, barely furnished with a bed, a bedside table, and the Order of the Sword emblazoned on the wall, but it was free to stay...provided you could find a room to keep as your own that wasn’t trashed by it’s previous occupant. Vergil figured himself lucky that this place was mostly clean. It even had a coat hanger (which he appreciated for his coat) and a vase, which he placed a snowdrop flower in. It reminded him of home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil didn’t need much, aside from Yamato and his mother’s amulet (both of which he would never part with, no matter how dire the situation), but it turned out he needed more than a sword and a necklace. Not power (he could get that eventually) but money (which was another matter entirely)...but there were other means of getting what he needed. Other means he was forced to rely on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He heard a knock at his door. Two short raps, followed by a third ‘thunk!’. He scowled as he stood, knowing full well who it was at the door: A Matron of the Order, Fioralba if he remembered correctly. Despite being an older woman, she was no ordinary matron. No, she had access to the Order’s most secret texts, texts as old as the city itself. And he needed access to those texts to find the secrets to unlocking his father’s power, to finally be strong enough (and then what? He would figure that out when the time came). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Snowdrop?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My apologies.” He spoke, opening the door. Snowdrop was merely another name, he dared not reveal his true name or heritage to the Order. No, he knew better than that, he was no fool nor did he wish for the Order to find him if and when he left the city to seek more information about Sparda elsewhere. There was something about Fortuna that kept him on edge...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Snowdrop!” Fioralba snapped. Vergil blinked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Once again, my apologies. I was thinking.” He explained, stepping aside to let her in. His eyes caught the faint golden lining of her hood. He closed the door behind her, watching as she set her bag down. He knew it wasn’t the texts, no, they were too important for her to carry around. She pulled off her hood, revealing mostly grey hair. Whether it was from stress or age, Vergil didn’t ask. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Always thinking, boy.” She huffed. “Keep your head out of the clouds.” Vergil disliked Fioralba’s rudeness but kept his mouth shut. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Just stay quiet.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thought to himself as Fioralba rummaged through the bag, setting it on the tiny table in the room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don’t do anything reckless.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sat down on the bed, undoing his vest and carefully setting it aside. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a very important folder being laid down, the permissions he needed to get into those secretive tomes. He knew what she wanted in return, he could feel her gaze upon unscarred muscles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, mostly unscarred. There was one, on the right of his heart, where Yamato was thrown into him, where his demonic heart awoke and defended itself against the demons. It was a thin line, a line that still stung when he awoke from his nightmares-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, he looked up at Fiorabla to find that she was already making her way to the bed, ready with a bottle of lube in her hands. She knew what she wanted if that look in her eyes was any indication. She slid into the bed, handing the bottle off to him. He set the bottle aside and pulled off his pants. Taking the bottle again, he squirted some lube in his hand and stroked himself (a skill he learned from one of the younger matrons, the far nicer Luna). Once prepared, he shifted to settle himself between Fioralba’s legs.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahem.” He paused, blue eyes flicking to her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you were better than that.” She crossed her arms. “Already getting to the main event?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...my apologies.” He lowered his head. He wanted to get to the main event, to get this over with, but kept his mouth shut. He felt her hand on his hair and repressed a shudder, guiding his face down to her cunt. Quickly getting what she wanted, his hands rested on her thighs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They may have agreed on the terms, a night of pleasure for access to the texts he needed, but he didn’t have to like it the entire time. And if he played his cards right, she would never know he wasn’t enthused about the entire affair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned forward, suckling on her clit (something he learned once again from Luna. He wished she was here instead of Fioralba). The reaction was immediate, the older woman letting out a surprised gasp, her hand clinging tighter onto his hair. He ignored the shudder that shot down his spine from his hair being pulled, focusing more on pleasuring her as best as he could without trying to scowl or flinch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, his mind drifted to Luna, who was everything this matron could never be. He remembered their first meeting, where he had saved her from a pack of demons that somehow got into the city. She had offered what she could, bread from her basket, as thanks. She had connections to the Order of the Sword, specifically to its many libraries, but he always felt...concern to her. Worried about her safety and well-being. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was unlike him to worry about anyone but himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Snowdrop.” He glanced up, feeling his face covered with her slick. “I’m ready.” There was barely any tenderness, only the hint of annoyance that her time was being wasted by him not moving fast enough to pleasure her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma'am.” Vergil sat up, trying not to sound bored. It seemed to have convinced her, if that smile was anything to go by. He lowered his head, eyes glancing anywhere but her as his cock sunk into her. Vergil groaned softly at the warmth, more instinct than desire. He would never vocalize his disdain for being with Fioralba, not while she had what he needed, but good god, he wished he didn’t have to be with her.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But the faux enthusiasm (if he even could project enthusiasm normally) seemed to fool her, given how she hooked her legs around his hips, locking him in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don’t think too hard. Just focus on making sure she leaves happy enough not to take back what I need.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> He mentally reminded himself, keeping still as he waited for Fioralba to give him permission to move.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Move, boy.” Boy, tch, as if she could call him that. He was a young man of eighteen, he was no boy. But he didn’t say a word about that, more focused on thrusting into her. She relished the thrusts, from all appearances, and he could pass off his lack of looking at her as ‘focus upon the other parts of her’. She wouldn’t be able to tell his mind was elsewhere, to someone that wasn’t this cruel witch of a matron, but of someone who genuinely cared for him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luna. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If he focused hard enough, he could just see her in his mind’s eye, her auburn hair splayed out on her bed, warm skin faintly illuminated by candlelight. He could just hear her, gently guiding him on how to make love, patiently answering all the questions he had. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This, what he was experiencing with Fioralba, was not love. It was a transaction, sex for information. Nothing more, nothing less. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Outside of me, boy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am.” Vergil was really starting to hate her, not that he could do anything about it. He pulled out and began to stroke himself vigorously, panting softly. It didn’t take long for his cock to shoot out seed all over her stomach. He quickly moved himself out of the way as she sat up, getting off the bed. He passed a look to her, wondering if he was able to fool her into thinking he was even slightly interested in making sure she had a good time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Take care on your way home, ma’m.” Vergil said, sitting on the bed quietly as he watched her get dressed. She passed him a look, a look of disinterest, before she resumed her task. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Snowdrop.” Fiorabla said coldly, finishing getting dressed. Just as he expected as she packed up her bag, leaving the folder on the table. He heard her mumble as she stepped out. Vergil knew it was an insult as he stood up and locked the door behind her. He stood at the door for a moment before he walked away from the door to the tiny bathroom. Turning on the ice cold water, he stepped into the shower, fully intending to clean off the lube and cum on his person. He paused, standing there in the tiny shower, silent but shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut, sliding down the shower wall. The ice cold water fell upon his skin, mixing in with the tears that were sliding down his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hated it here. He hated Fortuna, it’s matrons, every sideways glare from its own people (except Luna. He could never feel anything close to hatred for her). He hated running for his life, not a penny to his name, nothing but Yamato, his mother’s amulet, and the clothes on his back and demons hunting him down at every chance they could get. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Mother...Dante…’</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Only under the ice cold water of a shower would he admit he missed his mother and brother. Only all alone on a winter night would he dare cry over who he lost. Only, when he was certain no soul was watching, would he beg for his mother like a child.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Devils don’t cry, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <span>‘Mother, Dante...I swear, I will find the power to avenge you. I will not rest until Mundus’ head is in my hands.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vergil silently swore, slowly rising his head to the stone ceiling above him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘My father did it. I will do it as well.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The fic's title was chosen for the meaning of the Snowdrop flower, home and purity. Both of them are quite ironic for Vergil at this moment in time, aren't they? </p>
<p>This fic is based on LadyMuzzMuzz's headcanon that Vergil, being a broke teenager looking for information in Fortuna, trades some ‘favours’ for it (making him the prostitute that Nero's reputably from).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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